He lived on the banks of Russell,
This pony so sweet and pure.
Many folks rode upon his back,
Looking for help and a cure.

Everyone loved pretty Pony
For he was so good and kind.
Little kids and the old alike
Knew he was there all the time.

Ponies no matter how pretty,
Need men to help them along.
Men to take the reins to guide them
And to help them sing their song.

Pony's men however failed him,
For all Trainers are not good.
The bad Trainer hurt poor Pony
By taking away his food.

They should have known Pony's hunger,
That the feedbox was empty.
If the Trainer's cupboard is full,
They should have known, put simply.

But the Trainer rode poor Pony,
Yes, rode him into the ground;
He rode him around the country
And he rode him right through town.

Yes, the Trainer rode poor Pony,
Till the last column was poured.
Then poor Pony, sick and dying
Was dismounted so untoward.

So the men said they did not know
And the Trainer smirked and grinned.
Poor Pony lays so cold and dead;
Surely men and Trainer sinned.

Though Pony lies dead on Russell,
The columns still stand tall and white.
The Trainer continues to train
Riding ponies day and night.

Won't someone speak for poor Pony,
Who now lies beneath the ground?
Is there no justice for Pony,
Who was rode into the ground?